The Birds Of Prey
by EdyFerrone
Summary: Sometimes you just think you know yourself, but you don't. There are shades you even hide to yourself. Everybody has got a darkside, but some of us seem to have an abyss of darkness. Basically, a story about a bird of prey and his little bird.
1. Prologue

**A/N:** Well, hello. I'm trying to work faster on my translation so that I can make my English work catch up with the Italian ones – though it's about 50+ fics so it's quite hard – because that will bring me to update at the same time with both the fandoms. Maybe you just don't care sorry haha.

I'm not going to write many notes for long fics for the same reason but if you'd leave a review to let me know what you think it'd encourage my translating work.

Thanks to Mariafbv for being my beta.

At first it might seem a little too confused, but it gets clearer chapter by chapter, I swear.

**Warnings:** abuse, kinks, amnesia, death of secondary characters, DOD (Dissociative Identity Disorder), therapy.

xxx

_His chest deflates slightly, anxious to breathe something different from the panic filling his veins and reaching his lungs, painful from the harsh physical effort he is going through._

_**You only see what you want when you're out with the birds of prey**_**.**

_He is running up to nowhere._

_The small break doesn't help, instead it is making him more unsatisfied towards a desire he hasn't even fully realized yet. His mind is a desolate land, destroyed by that anonymous need, even though he can't really tell what it is about, as if it's something scary but vain._

_**You disappear with the dawn.**_

_**You only see what you want when you're out with the birds of prey**_**.**

_He looks around and the natural scenery surrounding him confuses him. He's searching for something but he has quite realized what it might be yet. He's searching for someone, for an important someone too. Who was that someone?_

_He runs again then, not even bothering paying attention to the cracking pain he is starting to feel to his legs, violent cramps, muscles flexing in pain as if they're asking for mercy, begging him to stop and try later on for that target._

_But he can't._

_He can't stop, not now while he's starting to feel like he's close. He can't do it, not after he has run for so long in the middle of nowhere to arrive there, where he is, where he doesn't even know he's at; where is he?_

_He doesn't care much._

_He doesn't care because he's starting to feel a little more complete and that makes him think he's almost there, he has almost reached him, he doesn't need to run too long now._

_**There's no right, there's no wrong.**_

_**You only see what you want**_**.**

_He turns around a few trees. It's not like he's counting, because it looks like everything just disappears whenever he walks towards it, so he realizes there is no need for avoid anything: a simple waste of time that gets him farer from the aim._

_He's starting to feel too weak but still he can't let go._

_Also, even if he would want to stop, his legs wouldn't allow that, they'd force him to be dominated by a movement he can't control anymore. He isn't even choosing a direction; he's just following the one his body imposes._

_The moment he stops though, he doesn't see anything but the water shining under the sun, and the anxious feeling of unsatisfied desires hits him again._

_What if he has walked miles uselessly? _

_What if he has run that long instinctive road only to find a stupid lake?_

_No, that's not what he's searching for, he knows it because his chest his giving him signals again to make him understand nothing is going the way it should._

_He's already breathing harshly and this time it's not about the run itself, but because he's feeling terribly lost. Then he feels a presence behind his back, light steps moving through the spines of herb shaking to seek for his attention._

_When he turns to check, he isn't really sure about what he sees: the figure standing in front of him is blurred and no matter how much he tries, he can't focus on it, and the way he's forcing his sense for that makes him feel a hard pain at his temples, so he brings his fingers up to brush them. His eyes close instinctively and, when he opens them again, he realizes how stupid he has been: the figure is gone and there was nothing before his eyes again. It's like an empty space ready to devour him making explode the anxiety again, as if it's hidden into his body constantly, ready to blow it all up so that any part of his body feels involved._

_Seconds pass, but they aren't really seconds._

_Seconds become years._

_Years become seconds._

_Time goes on slow and inexorable, fast and uncatchable._

_**You disappear with the dawn.**_

_**You only see what you want when you're out with the birds of prey.**_

_He realizes his temples aren't really feeling the contact with his fingertips, so massaging has become useless, because something that doesn't feel, doesn't need to be brushed. And he isn't actually feeling._

_The wind blows, his ears could hear it, but his skin escaped the touch._

_Then, again, herb shaking, a few steps at his back and this time, when he turns, he makes sure his gaze is strong and intense on what he sees; but he doesn't see anything._

_The other person isn't there anymore as he would have thought, just gone._

_He feels his head hurting again, weaker, __**a lot**__ weaker, then again, stronger, __**much**__ stronger._

_He blinks his eyelids a few times, almost as if he believes that could wash away the pain and it does actually; but then his eyes got caught in a strong blinding light that made him shake and almost fall._

_He passes out a second later._

xxx

When his eyes open again, his sight is a lot more hazed than it was before, running through the woods. He can barely capture the neutral colors surrounding him, mixing and blending to create a much worse state of confusion.

He tries to blink again as a few seconds before, but he can't focus on the people surrounding him: he can feel voices, even breaths, but he can't see, his retina isn't really scanning the bodies and faces behind the sounds continuously trembling around him, as if all the attention in the room is on him.

He feels a sober anxiety then, more real, and he walking around psychically to hide among the wounds of his drunken mind to try and give an order to the thoughts or maybe keep them alive enough to elaborate them consciously.

It takes him barely 10 seconds to fall into the oblivion again.

xxx

_**There's no right, there's no wrong.**_

_**You only see what you want.**_

_He's running again, once again. Lately – he can't really measure time because time doesn't exist there – he has found himself running so many times he is asking himself how can his legs even keep lasting._

_He doesn't care though._

_He has a prey._

_He has found it._

_It can't escape._

_There are moments in which that blurred image represents the main sweet aim, a simple desire to be made real, but right now, it's just a target. He isn't searching for it with interest, but with hunger, so much he has sure he has felt the sensation dozens of times before even though he can't remember them right now – now … time doesn't exist – because it's so familiar._

_There's a pleasant warmth running through his chest, a dispersive but still present feeling that makes him shiver unstoppably along his back and he know for sure what it is. He knows it beyond this confusion._

_The bird of prey._

_A night bird._

_His perfect sight is trained to see through the darkness of the night sky, his skilled hearing – trained the same way – and all the qualities that make him able to choose a target and pursue it until he gets it, just as he was about to do now, he was sure of it._

_As a good predator, which he was, he would have eaten it alive, sucking each and every little piece of sanity away from its mind until it was done._

_He runs, faster, tracing the route he had followed the time before, like __**every single time**__, until he finds that lake._

_He tries not to get caught by surprise this time and, as soon as he hears the swish of the herb, alive again, he turns fast to keep his prey from escaping._

_Still, right now his prey is not a prey at all: it's a wish again, a desire, and it changes like a swing, back and forth. It's all so confused and confusing._

_He takes his eyes to look into the two little sapphires shining in front of him and then he is able to look at him, completely. It's there, on the tip of his tongue, but he can't say his name. His eyes wander over his body, his lips curl in a sweet smile, a sick one, then sweet again._

_The light._

_xxx_

This time he is able to distinguish better the voice around him, he's almost able to catch some words during the conversation going on in the room. The words 'memories', 'part', 'erase' fly around him, filling a new air he doesn't recognize, but he can't force his mind enough to go on an synthesize the whole thing together.

One voice among the others sound fucking familiar, a little less unknown, and the warmth of the common tone seems to call him a little, probably because it's actually the first reality he gets in contact with since God only knows how long; but he doesn't have time for statements: his prey is running away and he needs to hurry if he wants to catch it.

He won't be able to catch it ever again if he stops.

His prey.

Where was his prey?

xxx

_He slips down the hole again, and his wandering through the woods; he's faster and faster, and he doesn't want to stop, not after he has been terrorized by the idea of missing the goal forever. It was his prey, wasn't it?_

_But it doesn't look like a prey to your right now._

_No, this time it looks like a desire, he knows._

_He runs, he runs, he runs, until he reaches for the place that looks like the final destination every single time. Again, he turns as soon as he hears that sound, the swish among the leaves, and the third try is the lucky one. The third he actually remembers. If time doesn't exist, number don't either. _

_It's a fast flash: the expression on the other boy's face makes him smile._

"_Kurt."_

xxx

His eyes open for good now and the sharpness of every detail surrounding him is so defined that it almost hurts his eyes. His eyelids go down for a second and he takes courage: he knows when he'll open them back, he's going to meet that white and gray space, but at least he's going to have a little preparation ahead now. He doesn't want his head to spin again so hard it makes him pass out. It's fucking creepy.

He does it though and not only he focuses on the hospital room in the details (he's now realizing he has always woken up there also), but he can also scan perfectly the image of the boy sitting beside him, looking at him life he's a ghost or something, with his eyelid and mouth wide opened.

"Blaine …" He murmurs weakly, realizing slowly how hard it is for him to talk. What the hell happened to bring him in such a state?

"Sebastian …" The boy whispers, getting a little closer to the bed with his chair, "you woke up …" He stares at him an Sebastian immediately thinks it's such a stupid statement. Right now, sharing this mean thought with himself, he's already feeling like he's getting back into his own shoes and it's such a perfect sensation.

"Where am I?" He asks, shifting a little towards him instinctively, before he realizes he's practically tied to the bed enough to force him back.

Why?

"Metropolitan Hospital Center," Blaine answers with a serious look on his face, with such a worry in his eyes that Sebastian has no problem reading it, "you had an accident, don't you remember?"

Sebastian shakes his head, then nods.

"I don't remember about it," he explains, smooth voice, while his face in scowling fast, "but I remember I had one. It's so weird …" He moans, bringing a hand on his forehead for the instinct to fight the sudden stabs that hit him as soon as he tried to remember about the reason he is there.

Blaine nods.

"It is," he answers fondly, leaning towards him to takes his free hand, "it's totally weird, I know."

Sebastian starts a little at the touch and feels like it's because his body hasn't felt the contact with another skin for too long, so it's the pleasure of physically connecting that brings him to that. When he realizes it, he can't help but asking.

"What's the date today?" He asks and brings his gaze up from Blaine's hand upon his own – he doesn't really care much about it, he needs answers – to point them into the other boy's, wondering.

"4th of November, 2012." Blaine shoots back, as if he has trained who knows how long to give him that answer the right way, as if he has been waiting for Sebastian to wake up to tell him that. Sebastian might be fucking dazed, but he isn't stupid, he was_ never_ stupid.

"It's been sixteen days." Sebastian shoots back, but he doesn't even know what he's actually talking about. Blaine startled in the hold of their hands. "Blaine, it's been sixteen days. Is my brain damaged or something?" He asks when he realizes that repeating the words isn't making them any clearer. The only thing he remember it's 19th of October 2012. What happened that day?

"No." Blaine answers, shaking his head. "No long-lasting damage. The doctor says your memory might be a little shadowed at the moment, but it's not irreversible. As time goes by, you'll remember everything. You're just a little confused because of the coma."

Sebastian wrinkles his nose at that, as if he realizes just now what happened.

"Sixteen dyas of being comatose?"

"Fifteen." Blaine answers. "You had your accident fifteen days ago." He explains and Sebastian looks down for a few seconds, thoughtfully.

He tries to remember about something, anything, but all he can do his feeling the pain drive fast to his head every time he does it, so he's forced to talk to Blaine again, trying to avoid the part of him that wants to remember alone.

"What happened sixteen days ago, before the accident?" He asks, insistently, but Blaine shake his head.

"I don't know, we haven't talk on that day, I have no idea where you were. They called me after your accident." He give back, shrugging, but Sebastian's careful eyes notice he's practically trembling while shifting – his sight is perfect, _the sight of the bird of prey_ (a violent camp hits his temple at that metaphorical thought, he has no idea why).

He tries to think about the words he has heard when he woke up earlier – 'memories', 'part', 'erase' – but he isn't able to explain it to himself. He gets hit by another stab, the worst until now.

He leaves Blaine's hand to pull to his temple, just like the left one, and starting massaging there. This time, he feels it, his nerves are shaking under the touch and mainly it was _really_. It's not an imagination, he must be awake because he can feel the contact perfectly.

"Is everything okay?" Blaine asks, sound worried, but Sebastian starts to wonder how can his best friend be so calm: he was on coma for fifteen days, but Blaine looks like he hasn't even considered the idea that he could have never woken up again.

There's something strange in that, something _very_ strange.

"I keep having this stabs and … I feel like shit …" He murmurs, groaning, but Blaine simply sighs, smiling at him in a way Sebastian doesn't consider appropriate right now; he's getting more nervous, he needs to understand. "Are we on Sunday?" He asks suddenly, weirdly worried about the day of the week, even though he doesn't know why.

Blaine breathes in, slowly.

"Yes, Sebastian. We're on Sunday." He answers and Sebastian swallows, wondering the reason why these questions get out of his mouth if he doesn't understand them. Especially, he needs to know why he isn't even able to think without getting hurt.

Suddenly, with no stabs, something about the visions he had gone through for fifteen days comes up to his mind, enlightening him. He lifts his eyes and turns it into Blaine's, smiling spontaneously now, naturally and almost brightly.

"Where's Kurt?" He asks, hope shining into him, as if he has reached an essential point to clear things up; but Blaine is looking at him with his eyebrow lifted in surprise.

"Who's Kurt?"

Sebastian's smile vanishes to ashes.


	2. Chapter 1

"_Kurt?"_

_He walks around the house when he doesn't hear Kurt calling out his name. Anxiety bubbles inside him at the thought that maybe Kurt is gone. Maybe he found out about everything, maybe he hasn't been quite the actor he thought he was and made him run away._

_He smiles as soon as he steps into the living room and finds him on the sofa, surrounded by a heavy white sweater that covered his neck, and a woolen blanket._

_He walks towards him and puts the keys on the small table beside the white sofa, wood sheltered in thin glass. The tv is turned on still, a low voice sounding out in the room, just like Kurt leaves it every time he just needs to get some rest and not even pay attention to what he's watching._

_He sits next to him, passes one hand though his hair, fingertips brushing the softness. _

_It just seems so real._

xxx

"Sebastian?" Blaine's voice is calling him out and Sebastian scowls because he feels like Blaine has woke him up from some important reflection. "Sebastian, are you okay? You won't answer and-"

"Where's Kurt?" He asks again, looking with lifted eyebrows where Blaine is tugging at his arm; he lets his gaze slide upon Blaine's own arm until he has reached for his eyes, so that their looks are now connected. These hazel eyes are full of confusion.

Blaine shushes a laugh in the end.

"I have no idea who Kurt is." He answers but quit smiling when he sees the serious expression on Sebastian's face. "Sebastian? Maybe … you're still suffering a little for the operation and-"

"Operation?" Sebastian asks, anxiety filling his body fast, blooming like flowers in the spring, "Did I have surgery or something? I thought-"

"You got it while you were unconscious. It was a terrible accident, but surgery would have given you more chances to survive the coma, so … I signed it. Luckily it worked." He explains, and Sebastian calms down for a few seconds, before the question explodes into his brain again.

"Kurt's-"

"Sebastian, we don't know any 'Kurt's." He cuts in, taking his hand again, as if he wants to calm him. "Maybe you're just a little upset with the days of unconsciously, but I swear we don't know any 'Kurt's." He says again.

Sebastian looks down, eyebrows still arched in doubt: the visions he started having in his subconscious sleep look _so real _that Blaine's words seem false. He knows it's absurd: how could his roommate, best friend in college, lie to him on such a silly thing?

And still … there's something wrong in the whole thing.

He doesn't have a lot of time to think about it though because the door is opened and the doctor enters, carrying a folder in his hands. Sebastian is mainly surprised about the fact that the doctor doesn't look surprised he's awakening, and that definately must mean something's wrong.

"Mr. Smythe," he says, browsing the folder into his hands and studying it superficially, "I see you've finally honored us with your presence." He smiles a little too, ironically, and Sebastian really wants to know what's so funny about being in a coma.

He searches for an answer in Blaine's eyes, turning to him, but he doesn't get it, because the boy is already staring at the doctor (Sebastian doesn't know if he's looking at him for something or maybe just to avoid his eyes).

"I …" He tries to say, but there's a sharp stab fills his mind while he tries to give an explanation.

"Relax," the doctor, dark skin and Asian features, "right now you should just rest. Forcing your mind is gonna make you weaker, so you shouldn't really get nervous." He says as he steps closer, pulling out his pen and putting it on the folder. "The best you can do now is closing your eyes, take a breath and wait for the sleep to come, believe me. It's going to be easier remembering after a few awakenings, we're going by levels. Trying to force your brain now is in vain and painful for your temples."

Sebastian isn't sure but he's starting to feel like there's something strange in the room: there's a weird moment he even thinks they want to convince him _**not**_ to remember. The thought is immediately altered by a stab, and he tries not to scream. Maybe he should really listen to the doctor.

When he comes back to reality though, he notice something: his gaze catches silence looks between Blaine and the doctor and has no idea how to read into them. It looks like they're having entire subtle conversations, nodding and blinking, but the code of the exchange is totally unknown to Sebastian, so he's just forcing his brain out, _again_.

It hurts and he doesn't realize that stab after stab, he's getting tired again, forcing him to go back to chaos in his mind that's too confusing.

"Sebastian," He hears Blaine call him out, as if his voice is far, too far to belong to the boy sitting next to him, "Maybe the doctor's right. You should keep resting. You'll only hurt yourself like this."

He scowls weakly, trying to keep his eyes opened, but he can't. He feels something hitting his hand, as it's trying to verify his reactivity, and realizes it's Blaine's hand.

"He's blacking out again." He hears him murmuring at the doctor and _God_, he hates not being able to open his eyes. He doesn't understand what the hell it's happening around him and it makes him terribly nervous, but his nerves don't seem to react a push that should have made them contract.

It doesn't happen anything he was expecting to into his body and it's so damn frustrating.

"It's normal." The doctor is speaking: his voice is lower, altered as the years have gone by, probably he smokes too or has smoked for years (_the birds of prey watch, they need, they take what they need, they bite as you bleed_). "He's going to be fine. Right now he just needs to do what his body asks for. It could take him a few hours of sleep. Even your presence could disturb him, so I beg you to leave."

"Fine." Blaine answers immediately and Sebastian can feel the sound of the chair shifting along the pavement, and he can't even feel the pain when the noise get's to his ears. He hears Blaine's steps, but he's scowling more, he can feel the muscles of his face, while he trice to listen but the effort is just too much.

He's just trying to fight back.

He doesn't want to sleep, he needs to know what's happening, he wants to be sure; he feels like he's manipulated, like he's in trap and he needs to see it clear.

But he can't.

It's too hard.

Still, somewhere into his mind – in that chaos – he remembers he has had insomnia at times. He isn't sure, he _can't_ be sure about anything. He doesn't even know what's his life about and there are pieces that look like they're clearly out of the line. Blaine's the first thing wrong mainly because … who is even Blaine? He knows who's Blaine, but there's something missing, something wrong, empty spaces between his memories, a confusion that fills him every time he tries to remember.

He's getting weak.

Weaker and weaker.

xxx

"_It hurts." Kurt complains, while Sebastian tightens the bandages around his wrists, holding them together firmly with a smug grin on his face. He pushes one hand through his soft hair, messing it and then pulling them strongly back, forcing Kurt to arch his back._

_He kisses him from there, pushing his tongue into the boy's mouth with no kindness, unable to keep from smirking wickedly and feeling the anxiety growing inside: his beat is fastening, his skin almost burns, his sight improves even better, allowing him to study each and every detail of Kurt's freckles that cover his soft, delicate, milky skin. So beautiful, it looks like it was made to be signed with the tip of a knife, so perfect that it __**needs**__ a treatment like this one as a punishment for having crossed the limits allowed to human beauty._

"_It's gonna hurt just a bit …" He murmurs low at his ear, feeling Kurt shiver against him._

_He loves having him like this, enjoy that Kurt's so weak to surrender his games, that he doesn't even want to complain and likes being defeated by him. He may be the best prey he has ever had, the one that makes him proud the most. So apparently perfect and yet fragile victim of his touch, as if it's a natural hypnosis, as if he had fallen into his trap before Sebastian even had the honor and the pleasure to place it._

_The bed under the boy's knees taste like them, their bodies, and it's such a turn on for him; It might turn him on more than Kurt himself. _

_He is starting to feel the anxiety of the victory so much he can't even find the right moment for that. Week might have gone by and yet he hasn't decided when to strike and put an end to this game; a one sided challenge he knows he's going to win._

_It's always been like that and it's __**always**__ going to be._

_The bird of prey only can survive the hunt. _

"_It's already hurting a bit …" Kurt complains and the fingers through his hair tugged at it strongly, again. "No, it's not, it's not hurting …" He murmurs, thrusting his hips back and forward, searching for a friction._

_Sebastian walks on his knees until he reaches his back: he puts his long fingers – merciful blades of cruelness – along his hips and pushes him a little back, making him lean against his chest so that he could reach Kurt's ear with his lips._

"_Does it hurt, Kurt?" He whispers, meanly. He doesn't care. Kurt's used to it. "Let me hear it, does it hurt?"_

"_No, it doesn't …" Kurt moans, sounding pathetically suffering. "No, no, it's not hurting …" He murmurs, in an indirect plea to make him stop._

"_Do you want me to tighten it?" He asks again, sucking his lobe between his teeth and biting his hard, so much he can feel the warmth of his skin, ready blow up in a little mark. Just a little, it's good for now. "You don't seem sincere, baby."_

"_It doesn't hurt, don't worry about me …" Kurt tries to look more spontaneous but Sebastian …_

xxx

He blinks, startling for the sudden awakening.

Blaine is walking around the room, back and forward, and maybe the fact it didn't take him long to focus on him must be a good sign. He can't tell the same about the vision he's just had.

He stays there for a few minutes, in silence, staring at him and wondering what the hell is he thinking. Must be really though since Anderson never massages his temples. It's more like a Smythe thing.

Then, finally, Blaine seems to be having realized Sebastian has woken up.

He forces a smile, looking at him, but Sebastian can read it into his innocent eyes – too innocent to lie – that something's going through his mind and he's trying to hide it. How silly of him.

The birds of prey watch and observe.

"You've woken up. We were starting to worry that it'd never happened. It's so strange one can risk a second coma by simply lying on the bed, when they just wake up from their first one." He says but yet again, he looks totally too calm, considered he has just risked of losing his best friend. "Are you okay? Did you have strange visions or something? You look pale."

Sebastian lifts his chin, silently challenging him.

He knows what he has seen. There's no way Blaine is going to fool him; but he doesn't want to seem to evident though.

"Yeah, that was weird." He explains, leaning on the flexing back of the bed. "The vision was awkward and I'm still trying to give it a reason or a meaning."

"Talk to me." Blaine steps towards him and the bed, grabbing the chair back there.

Sebastian has the immediate sensation it's forced: for some reasons, his mind is suggesting Blaine _hast_ to ask and it's not for personal interest. He's got some weird piece of memory that he's suggesting him there relationship has changed because of something, but he has no idea what it is. But right now he just suddenly feels like he can't trust the guy anymore.

"Kurt." He breathes out. "I'll ask you again, Blaine. I'll ask you a thousand times more until you'll answer me. Where's Kurt?" He asks, having no idea about why his voice has now become low and threatening.

His eyes stare at Blaine throat moving, almost in slow motion. He's swallowing.

_**The birds of prey watch**_.

He gains another stab but this time he just scowls without even lifting his hand to his temples. He lifts his chin proudly instead, exposing his perfect neck to Blaine in a gesture of superiority.

_**A bird of prey is a proud hunter.**_

"Sebastian, seriously, I don't even know how to say that anymore: we don't know any Kurt and … even if you do know him, you've never introduced us."

Blaine is such a bad liar.

He's always been, Sebastian knows it, but now it's totally clear. He isn't just an idiot and he isn't going to let Anderson play such a stupid lame game. Sebastian has got his rules, he has always had them. No one can force him to anything.

He feels a sparkle through his body and he knows he's born again.

The first awakening has been weird, confused, but right now, Sebastian is starting to feel himself again. His eyes are getting more skilled while they stare at Blaine, and a smirk is blooming on his face.

Blaine must have noticed because he swallows again, this time shortly. But still, Sebastian is able to catch it.

"Of course. Maybe I've just never introduced him to you." Sebastian answers on a purpose.

As he thought, Blaine startles a little: of course, he has imagined that since Sebastian hasn't introduced them according to his story, then Kurt mustn't exist. Sebastian really feels like laughing, because how silly must Blaine be to think he can keep on the pretending? He isn't stupid, but he's totally too ingenuous to play such a game; a game Sebastian seems to know how to play too.

Another stab.

Another grimace.

"I don't think so." Blaine contests, trying awkwardly to save the discussion. He was such a terrible liar "We usually share everything about our live so, if you've met anybody named Kurt, I'd know at least, don't you think?"

"What if I didn't tell you?" Sebastian asks immediately, tightening his eyelids together, trying to catch on any sign of hesitation from him, eventually. "Maybe there's a reason I haven't told you. Maybe there's something I can't remember right now about Kurt. Something I didn't want to tell you for a specific reason."

"Sebastian." Blaine stops him, a little unsurely. "Seriously, you just got hit worse than they thought I guess. Because you can't even remember I know everything about you and you know everything about me. We don't know any Kurt, I have no idea how to tell you anymore."

Sebastian rolls his eyes, relaxing his back, staring at the ceiling.

He tries to allow his mind another of his spiritual voyages inside the visions he gets when his eyes close without his permission, but he isn't able to force it. He's like he needs to sleep now because he can't hold all the pieces together: the short confused scenes he sees when he's sleeping are not really helpful.

He remembers Kurt, and everything he focuses on these fantasies, memories or whatever they are, they look like they're completely at ease with each other. However, when he's awake, rationally thinking, he isn't able to understand who Kurt really is, what happened between them and when it has begun.

There are essential pieces missing.

It seems like he's able to see little pieces of something much bigger and if it's not real, well, he might think the accident drove him crazy. There's a small chance it did actually, but Sebastian doesn't feel like that's the case: he's not going crazy, he's sure of it. Blaine is hiding something, and it's a big deal too.

"I'm going to call the doctor, okay?" His 'friend' cuts in – he's not really sure he wants to think about Blaine as a friend right now – interrupting his thought almost as if he _wants_ to do it. As if he has seen Sebastian is thinking too much. He stands up. "He might help you understanding what you're talking about and-"

"There's no need for that." Sebastian answers calmly, a fake smile on his lips. "I'm just being a little confused, whatever."

He supposes that's the best way to do it: insisting means that he'd be going against someone's wills – he still has no idea why – so he decides to satisfy their wishes. It's the best way to get out of the hospital soon. Until he stays there, there's no really chance to get anything: he'd still remember thing and Blaine would still deny; there'd be no progress in that.

He must outsmart him.

"Maybe you're right." He murmurs then, wearing a fake sorry face, like he's the best actor on the planet, seriously. "Sorry, Blaine. I'm just a little shaken up so, my head's spinning and I just see a lot of strange things and it's confusing. I don't know what's real or not, but I guess I must trust you." He lifts his gaze and see that Blaine's already calmer.

"Exactly." He smiles too, sitting beside him again. "We shouldn't stay here too long. Just a little so that you can stop having such a mess in your head and we should go back home."

That's bad.

How much time is going to pass before he stops having these visions? He can't waste any time in a hospital bedroom, so he just gives him an instinctively grimace at the thought.

"I'm fine. It's nothing, like a few blurred visions. I'll just ignore them, they're just weird fantasies." He answers, smiling towards Blaine, trying to convince him. "There's no need for me to stay here, really."

"I completely agree, Mr. Smythe." The doctor enters the room, looking at Sebastian and then Blaine. "Air can do good. Being locked in here is just going to make him fall every time his mind trips him up. He needs to live calmly and an hospital room is not really the best thing now."

"I thought-"

"No." The doctor stops him and Sebastian notices the way he has cut it, preventing Blaine from speaking in front of him. Secrets, secrets, secrets. "There are some issues going on right now and he needs to go back to his real life before he loses contact with it."

"I get it." Blaine murmurs, looking down.

"Can you follow me? I must talk to you about some bureaucratic matters." He says, nodding towards the door of the room, and Blaine nods too. He steps forward, looking at Sebastian that smiled, reassuming.

As soon as the doctor closes the door behind their backs, Sebastian's smile drops.

He needs a plan, he needs it now: even though he's still a lot confuse right there, into his mind, he knows it can't be imagination, not totally at least: there are some pieces missing, mysterious parts that have disappeared and that he can't ignore, but still, he can't be fantasy, not everything.

There must be something real and he knows _Kurt_ is that something.

He just needs to focus and maybe search into their apartment for something that can remind him about whatever happened.

They don't want him to investigate, it's _clear_.

Probably, the doctor is explaining Blaine the reason why he wants him to get out of there, and it might be because it'd gain him Sebastian's trust. Of course Sebastian doesn't really want to co-operate: he has no idea about what's missing in the puzzle but he's quite sure it's important. If it weren't, he wouldn't even be so determined.

He puts his head against the headboard and closes his eyes.

He needs to remember, to understand.

He tries to focus to listen to Blaine and the doctor speaking, but his improved sense aren't able to work on it neither.

He just thinks for a second.

There's something wrong.

Why the hell are his sense so developed? Before this moment, Sebastian hasn't thought about it because he's weirdly comfortable with it, but the stab he's feeling right now proves him that's not the case.

He's starting to get how it work: every time his mind tries to remember something it shouldn't, Sebastian feels the arching pain in his head, as if there's some sort of obstacle to it, and maybe it's there for a reason.

It looks like a paradoxical and so space-aged, but it's starting to become more and more realistic into his mind, almost as if he's sure of it even though he knows it's a damn crazy theory. He has no idea about what did actually happen, why he's there and how he even got there.

There are two things he's sure about though.

Firstly, someone doesn't want him to remember and is playing a game with him.

Secondly, this someone is going to lose.


	3. Chapter 2

**Hey there update!**

**Just a few words to mention that this chapter is written from Kurt's POV instead of Seb's. **

**Thanks for the reviews and everything, you guys are pretty awesome and it makes me want to translate my Glee folder entirely in one night!**

**xoxo**

/

He dodges quickly the row of passers-by who occupy the streets of New York: he's in a hurry, he can't be late on his first day of work, so he doesn't even bother shoving some businessman talking on the phone via headset.

It makes him smile because he has always imagined that they spoke to themselves when he was a child. Having discovered headsets has destroyed many of his fantasies about them being actually crazy.

His phone gives a throb too in some remote pocket of his stylish Dolce & Gabbana, long white jacket that, for some reasons he still doesn't get he shouldn't even be wearing. It's weird: he feels it like a strange behavior, as if he doesn't have to do some things, but he doesn't even know the reason for this ban. However, he knows that's part of the _**cure**_at least, so he believes it's totally okay to feel a little confused – it doesn't look like it's a big price to pay right now.

He tries to ignore the small vibrations muffled by the many layers of the clothes he is wearing and tries to hurry up, walking faster and faster. Luckily, the phone stops pulsing after a few seconds, so he can go on without feeling the anxiety of having to pick up the call.

He turns the corner, feeling a slight twinge in his head when his gaze casually finds itself chained to a bench outside Central Park. He has no idea what it's going on his mind exactly, but it looks familiar, very familiar. That, too, is part of the process, then he just simply shakes his head and removes the thought.

The phone begins to vibrate again and this time he decides to pull it off of the pocket.

He unlocks the screen with his thumb and looks down to check the text telling him that he has new voicemail. He sighs, recognizing the number and calls the service, quickly pressing the sequence of numbers required to access his voicemail.

"_Message, 4__th__ of November, 2012, at 07:53."_

He waits patiently for the _beep_ that signals the beginning of the recorded message and sighs again as he recognizes the familiar voice.

"_Hey, Kurt! It's me, Rachel! Hmmm ... maybe I shouldn't call you, I know it's your first day at work, but I didn't heard from you last night and I was starting to worry. Sorry if I'm a bit over-protective, but, believe me, even if you can't understand everything right now, it's sort of necessary. I'm doing this because I love you_." Kurt rolls his eyes while he dodges the tail of the dog on the sidewalk. He catches the owner – a guy with a well-build up body – giving him a wink, and immediately turns his face away, embarrassed. "_I just wanted to know how you feel, if you've done some weird dreams. It's important that you tell me then, if you can't now, maybe you can call me when you get a break, okay? I love you so much, Kurt. I'm always here for you. Never forget that._"

He cuts the call then and sighs again: he has no idea why, but Rachel is totally stalking him lately. He knows that it's all part of a process that he can't and won't obstruct; therefore, simply, all he can do is merely huffing and trying to be patient with her.

He has no idea about what he's doing, or why he's doing it, but he trusts Rachel blindly, so he follows her instructions as if they're sort of a medicine that can cure him from any mental labyrinth that is beginning to form inside his mind.

It's an appropriate definition because every time Kurt is trying to turn in a certain direction in search of the path of memory, he finds himself facing a thousand walls that he's not ready to climb yet.

It's _totally_ like a labyrinth and all that Kurt can do at the time, is walking, running away from something, although he still hasn't the slightest idea about what it is.

Every now and then something jumps into his mind and he's sober enough to deal with this speech with himself. So he knows part of this must be real. He's totally into Rachel's hands, even when he has these moments of realization, because they seem to cause even more intense stabs and he thinks he can't stand the pain if there's no one reminding him why he's doing this.

He has decided to continue along this path instead, trying not to think about it and trying to focus on his present.

It takes a few minutes to reach the building that Rachel has written on a note a few days before and he's quite sure that it's different from any work he had before: he hasn't particularly impressed in his mind the place where he worked before, but he remembers that it was so little if compared to this of high-rise building that is standing in front of him, a modern structure that is already making him feel important, even before he sets his foot in it.

It's completely different from his first job, so he has no idea what to expect. He has no idea about how this is going to change his days, but actually, he has no idea how his days really were before, so the thought is not killing him right now.

He approaches the entrance and crosses the main threshold with no hesitation.

As soon as he steps inside, his body feels relaxed from a powerful air conditioner. It's nice, especially considering the fact that it's cold and icy outside, across the streets of New York, in November. At least he's going to work in a heated place.

Even all the people he meets during the next few minutes seem to be more aware about his situation than Kurt actually is, and although it's a bit frustrating, Kurt just smiles and nods to anyone who comes along or gives him directions, until he finds a young black woman who leads him to the elevator and then back to his office. It's not the type of work he would choose if he had the choice, but he knows he's doing the opposite of the usual anyway, so he doesn't even want to begin to fight it (_it's necessary_, that's what he keeps telling himself).

All he wants is for his life to go back to quietness and tranquility, and he knows he has keep on fighting because, as dark as the path he's running across is, it's the only road leading towards his aim, so it has to walk straight without hesitation, not even for a moment.

He spends half a day behind his desk, recollecting documents from photocopiers and bringing them back and forth, sending emails of requests, possibly responding at the phone calls service, and office stuff that he has never had the chance to experience before.

Something strange, however, happens during one of his new boss's breaks and that Kurt hasn't yet had occasion to meet: he has been asked to bring him a coffee, simple as that.

It should be an easy task, so Kurt doesn't hesitate before approaching the coffee maker, one of these that are really comfortable for offices because they make it fast and trouble-free. He takes a coffee pot from the lower drawer, and the simple movement gives him a chill that makes him realize that there's something wrong.

He tries to ignore it anyway: Rachel has told him that when he's warned by such a thing, he has to stop immediately whatever he is doing, but he can't this time, because he's working and it's his first day. He can't really object orders the first day.

Then it's suddenly like a wave and Kurt hasn't the strength to oppose to it: his mind gets shaken by a mass of confused memories, so faded that he can't even really become aware of what they are summarizing ('Push it away,' Rachel's voice suggests inside his head, shaken by these apparently senseless thoughts, 'Don't let it come to the surface, push it back at the bottom').

"Hummel?" The woman he has met this morning comes up to him while Kurt isn't even able to move anymore: his arms are outstretched towards the coffee machine, his hands shaking as well as his lips, unable to move to produce any sound. "Is everything okay?"

'Are you okay?' A totally different voice is whispering to his brain - a warm, pleasant, whisper but at the same time disturbing, that sounds a lot like death to him – and it's dangerously distracting him from real life.

It's a different tone, it's warm, sensual and deeply unsuitable in this situation. It's a voice that Kurt knows, but he can't recognize it as if the wires inside of his head have been twisted in tight knots so to block information; a dense net of faded lost memories, momentarily inaccessible to his knowledge.

They make him tremble so visibly that the woman instinctively leans towards him, touching his hand with his own (if Kurt had been sober, he'd probably have thought he was totally acting like a schizophrenic on his first day of work).

Immediately, Kurt escapes the attempt of contact, taking a step back and away from her eyes far too wide.

Still weak and wobbly, he looks around and realizes that the situation is much more embarrassing than he has thought: all eyes, in his new office, are fixed on him. Someone looks at him with his mouth wide open, visibly surprised and even a bit worried, while some others' puzzled expressions makes him realize that maybe someone's really thinking that he's crazy.

Whatever hides inside his head, it has to be a big mess because his lower lip trembles as he moves his eyes from the faces surrounding him to focus on the woman who is still offering to help him, waiting for a coherent response that could justify at least part of his behavior.

A damn coffee is all they've asked him for: what's his problem with a stupid coffee?

He doesn't know and the worst thing is that he can't find it out.

"Hummel?" The woman next to him whispers, while Kurt's lips are still trembling, anticipating a panic attack or something. "Should I call someone?"

He opens his mouth but that increasing vibration of his lips prevents him from producing any sound. He wants to tighten them then, seeing that he can't give any sense to the access of air into his lungs.

"Hummel?" The woman calls again.

'Hummel?' The hoarse voice inside in his head whispers. 'I bet it has something to do with your voice. When you talk it seems like Angels singing in a choir.'

He has no idea what it is or what it's supposed to mean.

It's there though and it's starting to make his head spin dangerously, but still he doesn't get it.

He begins shaking in cold sweat, feeling a shiver down his spine that forces him to shake up the tip of his fingers too. He is probably getting paler and paler, even more than normal, because the woman in front of Kurt leans towards him again.

His ears catch a whistle and he suddenly finds himself bereft of any strength.

The last thing he sees is this same woman, who is now bending towards him, trying to grab him somehow.

/

_The smell has become so familiar that Kurt isn't even aware of it anymore. The smell of coffee it's dense but he can't really distinguish it because, you know, when something becomes daily, it starts getting unnoticed too._

_If someone had asked him, Kurt wouldn't answer truthfully probably: working in a café-bar can't be anyone's dream, of course, but this doesn't mean he would have confessed his Broadway dreams, because it would only be a reminder of the way he had fallen before he could even arise for the first time. Or rather, the darkness had fallen just when Kurt had thought he was seeing the dim glow of the dawn of hope; it still crashes on the horizon of his existence in an even harshly way._

_But still, he is in __**New York**__._

_New York is everything Kurt has always dreamed of, since he was a little kid. The fact that he should live without the opportunity to realize his own dreams doesn't necessarily mean that he wouldn't see the good side of that whole thing either, although it's difficult to try and give a value to your own existence while you clean a coffee maker, the one meant to be used when the pods are over (when it happens is much like a tragedy, because making coffee takes a lot of time, the bar slowly becomes crowded and Kurt gets confused by the chaos eventually surrounding him)._

_Luckily for him (but definitely bad for the bar however), it's a lackluster day, then, at eight o'clock in the evening, there's no one sitting on his side of the counter, to get coffee. He doesn't envy Santana, all busy on the other side, intent on making drinks for the costumers sitting in front of her._

_He studies her annoyed face for a few seconds before smiling, imagining all the bad words she must actually be telling into her head in Spanish, biting her lower lip not to spit them in the face of her regulars._

"_Hey, pretty face." An unknown voice whispers, drawing his attention back to his work._

_Kurt turns instinctively, looking at the boy who is just sitting in front of him, on the wood stool._

_He tries not to give up to the temptation of admitting how good he looks – such an undeniable beauty that has struck him immediately as an avalanche, without letting him any chance to escape - because he's working, he's stuck in the bar he works into and he can't really flirt. When he's working, Kurt is always very professional._

"_Hummel." He clarifies immediately, lifting an eyebrow, when the boy in front of him grins amused. "You can call me that."_

_Kurt doesn't think this is funny, however, and maybe it's because of his many hours of work, because he's usually a playful person and willing to endure some teasing without being too touchy._

"_Hummel?" His is voice suddenly hoarse, low and deep. It's a little forced, but still it's surprisingly pleasant. "I bet it has something to do with your voice. When you talk it seems like Angels singing in a choir."_

/

He startles, sitting fast on the bed and breathing a sigh of relief when he finds himself in front of Rachel, who is looking at him, obviously worried. He knows his best friend, he knows it when she's nervous, but this time it's so obvious that anyone would have noticed: she's torturing her lower lip with her teeth, tapping her fingers on her chin. She also seems very relieved when she sees him revive, but it doesn't make the fear disappear entirely from her eyes.

It takes a few seconds for Kurt to realize that his heartbeats aren't regular.

He has been so focused on girl in front of him that he hasn't even noticed the state in which he has awakened: his fingers are shaking slightly, fingertips barely brushing on the sheets of the bed; his legs, running perfectly stretched along the mattress, are loosed and too relaxed, almost asleep; his heart in his chest, beating fast, eager to break out and escape from the cage his body is; his brain is trying to summarize the confused memories, which is already becoming blurred, but he can't do it.

"Kurt?" Rachel's voice is shaking even more than Kurt's fingers, and Kurt is beginning to feel a sense of growing panic, although he's not able to unearth the source, to understand the reason.

He is suddenly in the dark, he feels like someone is mocking him, like he's lost in a labyrinth, one of those you don't come out easily from, one of those you won't even come out from maybe.

"What happened?" He asks, between the gasps - he hasn't even noticed these irregular stops - and Rachel takes a too many seconds to process the question he's pulled it out.

"You passed out."

Of course, as if Kurt hadn't realized that he had lost consciousness. He is confused, yes, but not this much. He lifts his hands, before realizing that his relaxed arms are useful to maintain his body on balance. Then he leans back on the bed.

"I see things ..." He whispers, looking down and trying to remember more clearly, without actually getting positive results. "I see strange things, I ..."

"It's okay, Kurt." Rachel murmurs, taking a few steps towards him and leaning against the side of the bed. "It must have been one of those bizarre dreams they were talking about on TV the other night, remember? Human mind is weird ... "

Kurt nods, scowling uncertainly, not entirely convinced by Rachel's words: there must be a nexus between the cause of his faint and the vision, mainly because it involves a common element. He had begun to feel sick as soon as he approached the coffee machine, and suddenly, it included a vision. It's probably just a joke of his unconscious he has memorized the last thing he has seen before he passed out, nothing more, nothing less.

And yet ...

Suddenly, a pair of eyes - clear, he can't name a color, as the picture inside his head is blurring more and more - made room in his mind, sharp and dangerously attractive.

_**The birds of prey watch.**_

Their eyes are as sharp claws, they can see the details that common eyes miss.

This thought absurd, makes him feel a thrill, even thought Kurt has no idea where it comes from.

"Are you okay?" Berry asks, leaning slightly towards him. "You're even paler than usual. You took the pills I told you, didn't you?" She says and Kurt's eyes wrinkle again, and he's biting his lower lip and trying to remember what she's talking about because his mind is experiencing a sudden moment of total blackout.

"Pills ... what type of pills?"

He sees Rachel scowling at his words, but her expression is actually concerned.

"I don't ... Don't you remember?"

Kurt shakes his head faintly, beginning to feel seriously disoriented: if he had to take pills for something – he still has no idea what though - he would remember, right?

It would have been different if he had simply forgotten to take them. But the truth is that he can't even remember that _he has_ to take them and this is definitely more serious.

"I get it." Rachel is muttering to herself with her hand resting under her chin and looking down thoughtfully. "Maybe it's a side effect from pills, or therapy ..." She whispers to herself, but Kurt catches the words, unfortunately.

His chest begins to swell and deflate quickly, while the attack of panic takes more and more real form, invading him fast. It had barely been the first time that he has felt cold sweat and then fainted; he isn't ready for a panic attack.

It's a whole new feeling: uncontrollable agitation that he can't really justify, nor control, and that's pretty much making it difficult to breathe too. He wants to know the source, where it comes from, but he can't understand it.

"Kurt?" Rachel leans towards him just when Kurt's hands have begun to shake more prominently, too obvious not to notice. "Kurt!"

Kurt gets this feeling again: his skin becomes dry, his sight blurred, his lips trembling. He doesn't even notice the moment his eyes swivel and his body falls back, loosening along the bed.

/

"_Kurt, honey?"_

_What's happening?_

_He wants to know where Rachel is because he is no longer in that room. He's in the living room of a modern-styled all white apartment. He can distinguish the features even if the view is blurry._

"_Kurtie?"_

_The voice suddenly sounds familiar. Hoarse, ironic, exciting._

"_Kitten?"_

_He tries to fight back, but his body can't react to stimulations, he's relaxed against what appears to be a couch. The guy in front of him is shaking him, pressing his fingers on his arms, but Kurt feels so stoned that he barely feels that contact against his skin. Or his clothes. He doesn't know what he's wearing._

"_I think I went too much down on you this time." He hears the other boy mutter. "I'm so sorry, honey. I just wanted to play. You should tell me when your head starts spinning, you know? You're making me ... Do I have to call an ambulance?"_

_His voice is now worried and thoughtful._

_Kurt feels a little shaken by the ambiguity of this … dream, isn't it? How could this boy's voice go from sounding so evil to totally caring? How did he even reduce him like this?_

"_Answer me, babe." He murmurs, and Kurt sees his face - a great blurriness actually – getting closer to his own. "I need to hear your voice."_

_A breath on his lips._

/

He finds himself startling again, a mild shock that's running through his body, forcing him to open his eyelids.

Rachel is still there, looking at him terrified, scared to death, and Kurt can't imagine how it must feel to see your best friend pass out twice in one day. He tries to speak, but, again, his lips are trembling too much to give voice to the thought though.

Kurt has no idea what has forced him to react this way, but it's terrifying and disorienting enough to get him to lie down again, this time fully conscious.

"Maybe we should go to the doctor ..." Rachel murmurs, considering the idea. "There must be something wrong in the cure and we can't keep it on if it does this to you ..."

Once again, as it often happens lately, Kurt has the feeling that Rachel is letting the sentence drop: he knows what it means. His friend is so talkative that she has to take a deep breath at least before she can control herself and not to mention anything she shouldn't; so her voice trembles for a few seconds longer than it usually does when she fails, just before she's about to say something she shouldn't.

It's a frustrating situation: Kurt is left wandering in the dark, he has now realized that there is something important that he's missing but he doesn't know how that's possible; his mental state is shaky and he has no idea of what it means that he can't properly understand what's happening: there is something he doesn't know clearly. He wants to understand though; he wants to know what's happening around him and _to him_ mostly.

However, he feels like it's not going to happen anytime soon.

He lifts his head slightly from the couch to watch Rachel: she's playing with her fingers - obviously nervous, Kurt mentally pins on the list of clues against his friend - and she keeps her eyes down, probably aware that she abandoned the conversation when she shouldn't have done it.

"Yeah, we should." Kurt snaps, getting the attention of her gaze. "Whatever pill I should have taken, it's pretty clear that I didn't. Also, if I don't remember about it, it would mean, however, that I've been taking meds with several side effects, or that I have some sort of allergies that I've never been diagnosed or something." He tries to explain to her, to put her at ease (Rachel looks like a defensive wall right now, Kurt can't even find anything out unless he firstly calms her down, into believing not to have noticed her hesitation maybe). "I can't take anything without detailed analysis, don't you think?"

He sees biting her lower lip again and wonders if he actually had some analysis, because it would be totally irresponsible of your doctor to give you meds to take without determining the possible consequences, wouldn't it?

"Fine." Rachel murmurs, trying to look up and smile at him. "Stay here, okay? We'll book a visit for tomorrow. "

Kurt just nods.

He sees her moving from the sit and starting to search into her bag to probably take out the agenda on her phone.

Kurt tries to relax, but still feels this voice inside his head: it's far away, an almost inaudible whisper, but still, it's _here_ – beating inside his chest.

**The birds of prey watch.**

_Always._

11


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Update! Sorry if it took me so long, actually, but you know, I've got lots of story and shots on so it's complicated. I know this story looks confusing along the first chapters, but it's going to get clearer and clearer, I swear!

Also, if any of you is interested, I'm looking for a beta who can help me with grammar, since you know, English is not my native language. I've been searching around the Beta service on buy in case there's anyone of you who is interested, let me know about it.

Thanks you so much if you're going to waste your time on reading my stories ;) Let me know what you think about it!

/

**Chapter 3**

Sebastian feels much more confuse than he had imagine as he walks out of that elegant parquet floor, seventh floor, lit by large windows, decorated with dark colors. He wrinkles his nose even when he looks at the gray walls: definitely a choice that he would never do.

As soon as he hears the sound of the door closing behind him, he turns to Blaine with a wondering look.

"What is this?" He asks, his voice slightly altered from the tension that his body's experiencing again. It's starting to make Blaine startle. It's been like this ever since they've left the hospital: tension, doubts, Blaine being careful all the time, and he's not able to hide it because Sebastian has noticed immediately.

"What-?"

"_This_." Sebastian interrupts him, pointing at the apartment. "This isn't ... our apartment, there's something different. I'd have never chosen this color, c'mon ... It's too gay even for me, and that says it all."

"It's too gay because I chose it, maybe?" Blaine asks, clutching his arms and crossing them onto his chest, while his triangular eyebrows lift. It's a gesture that usually lacks of firmness however, as far as Sebastian is concerned. "I had to fix it all over again in 13 days and I only did it for my ungrateful roommate."

Sebastian rolls his eyes and gives him a face, crossing his arms over his chest, just like Blaine.

"Well, why would you have to fix it during these two weeks? If you didn't like it anymore you could-"

_Have waited for me to wake up?_

For a few seconds he thinks of how it must have been for Blaine to see his best friend like that, not knowing if he would ever awaken. He realizes to be particularly insensitive, but somewhere in his blurred mind, he also knows that Blaine is hiding something important, so he's not going to be cheesy and human about it.

"I didn't do it because I didn't like it anymore." Blaine shrugs anyway, given that Smythe's not speaking. "It's a therapeutic choice. The doctor says I should keep some colors away from you."

Sebastian laughs instinctively, honestly believing it's the most terrible excuse in the world. Then he sees the expression on Blaine's face and realizes that, maybe, Blaine's explanation is much more plausible, with everything that's happening to him.

"Such as?" He asks immediately.

For some reason, Sebastian expects that Blaine won't answer. However, he's thought that he would have cared to find an excuse for his silence, but it's not what happens: he stands there in front of him, biting his lower lip.

"Um ... I don't think it's productive for me to answer that question." He mutters, shrugging his shoulders and suddenly putting his hands in his pockets, as he always does when he wants hide his nervousness. "There are so many things, Sebastian, and ... it would be dangerous for you to deal with it. It could seriously damage your health permanently."

Sebastian stays there for a few seconds, raising an eyebrow to analyze him: he's not sure about what that's supposed to mean, because he still believes that it's impossible that a color could do so much damage to a person. He wonders if Blaine isn't taking advantage of the situation to mock him a little. It wouldn't even bother him too much maybe.

His priorities are different.

"Good. Can I sit on the couch, or it'll kill me?" He asks sarcastically and Blaine smiles, nodding.

"You would have killed yourself if you couldn't throw your body on the couch." He teases and perhaps Sebastian feels him loosing a little at the joking tone (is it natural or is it just part of the umpteenth strategy anyway?). "In fact, I had to change it because there was the shape of your ass imprinted on it."

Sebastian smirks, glancing toward the sofa that, colored in elegant burgundy and surrounded by dark walls, creates a mystical atmosphere, and he isn't definitely a mystical kind of guy. He has always preferred concreteness.

"My _gorgeous_ ass." Sebastian points out as he sees Blaine shaking his head, since he's now all too accustomed to his arrogant jokes. "Did you choose the color? At least it's not as bad as the walls ..." He mutters, leaning his side on the sofa. "Although I think it's hard to do worse than this disgusting dark shit."

Blaine comes closer, contemplating the couch: Sebastian knows he's going to think that they're about to have an easy conversation to defuse the tension and that maybe Sebastian is letting it go a little, surrendering to the idea that he can't fight the clinical choices intended to his case that - at least so it seems – is quite serious.

Clearly, if Blaine thinks this way - and Sebastian _knows_ that he's about to do it – he's going to let his guard down and, sooner or later, he's going to miss out on something that would shake Sebastian's mind, bringing it back into that confusion that he has experienced in the hospital.

However, there's really no need for Blaine to let it happen.

"You're being way too critical." Anderson complains, leaning beside him as he looks around - he isn't probably fully accustomed to the drastic change yet either. "I've never decorated anything, it's my first time. I'm human, I can make some mistakes, you know. "

Sebastian's hand slides rapidly along the back of the couch, gently caressing the fabric.

"What are you doing?" Blaine asks, getting nervous again. God's he's totally too obvious.

It's enough to make Sebastian understand that he's doing something he shouldn't. He just pulled the fabric of that dark pattern, by rubbing his pads against it, before he makes up his mind about what to do.

"Could you cook something?" He asks, trying to make it sound as a needy groan, but to which Blaine responds with a surprised look.

"You've just eaten." He notices, but Sebastian is never _unprepared_ when he has occasions like these (_**the **__**birds of prey **__**bite as**__**you bleed**_).

"You call that shit they make you eat in the hospital _'food'_?" He asks, finally removing his hands from the couch. "It's as if I had swallowed disgusting liquids, everything fell apart from the spoon, it's awful. The health services in this country were more efficient once." He mumbles and sees Blaine rolling his eyes, a sign of the fact that he has already surrendered at the idea.

"Okay, I'll cook you something." He mutters, before he finally loosens the grip of his arms around his chest and heads in the direction of what Sebastian remembered to be the kitchen - a bit darker, but still his kitchen.

He makes sure that Blaine has disappeared through the door, carefully watching his shadow reflected on the wall. Once he's sure about it - poor naïve Blaine, leaving him alone so easily - Sebastian considers the two hypotheses he's got: the first idea is beginning to rummage through the house, investigating until he finds something that would help him find out more about _Kurt,_ and another is to follow his instincts, which of course are pushing him to sit on the couch.

He remembers what Blaine has said about the shape of his ass. Associated with these words, the instinctive gesture probably means that it's something he has always been used to do, that he has spent much time on this couch, now carpeted in a color that he doesn't recognized at all.

He walks around it, watching it as if this piece of furniture could be a threat, as if it could attack it at any moment (after all he has felt strange for the whole trip in the car, he has felt strange since he had woken up, he wouldn't surprise him that a sofa or a stupid color could really damage him) and when he has carefully pondered his choice, he puts his hand on it again, stroking the bearings this time.

He moves towards it with the rest of his body and, cautious and slowly, he sits down. It almost seems like a military operation, except that he doesn't have any idea of how a military operation actually works.

He shifts slightly, leaning forward to study the thin cover of the mattress, passing his fingers on it. The fabric is caught between his thumb and his index finger that pull it, just lifting it a bit. There's another sheet under it, which allows him to be able to stretch enough to make the color of the sofa visible.

He thought it'd be simply an analysis, but as soon as his eyes catch the white sofa beneath the coating, he needs to close his eyes, feeling a sudden jolt of adrenaline run through his spine.

He knows for sure what is happening. He has already learned to recognize the feeling.

/

_"Kurt, honey."_

_He hears himself murmuring, hands placed under the chin of the boy in front of him. It hits his cheek with a light gentle slap, trying to get him back on himself. He can see the other boy's lips move in small spasms and struggle to keep the eyelids open while his body is pressing to relax definitely._

_"Kurtie?"_

_He calls again, grabbing his shoulders and beginning to shake him, even though he's not sure that Kurt would understand immediately. He seems quite shaken._

_A flash within the flash._

_He sees his hands on him, quick and incautious, invasive with no hesitation, especially sure about the way they're exploring his slender abdomen._

_**The birds of prey take what they need**_.

_He comes back to the present._

_"Kitten?"_

_He whispers, gently stroking his neck, his shoulders, his hair._

_"I think I went too hard on you this time." He whispers, swallowing, starting to feel guilty - a feeling which he's not used to and that puts him deeply uncomfortable. "I'm so sorry, honey. I just wanted to play. You should tell me when your head starts spinning, you know? You're making me ... Do I have to call an ambulance?"_

_He starts to think he has gone a bit over the limit, but it's not his fault: Kurt is so hot, so perfectly willing to anything he wants to do with him that he doesn't even give him a chance to be able to think to suppress some of his desires. If he has the chance to, why shouldn't he put them into practice?_

_"Answer me, babe." He moves slightly forward, beginning to feel the sting of an unusual fear explode inside his stomach. "I need to hear your voice."_

_His lips move nearer to the other's, kissing them softly. He tries to keep from tasting, to make those lips his each time. He only kisses him tenderly, trying to help him feeling better, somehow._

_"Bastian ..."_

_A murmur slips inside of his mouth and Sebastian smiles nervously, breathing out a sigh of relief._

_"Welcome back." He mutters, resting his forehead against the other's, while those big blue eyes begin to open completely and his irises are moving quickly from one point to another, trying to focus on the situation._

_"Where-"_

_"My apartment." He says quickly, looking at Kurt as he arches his eyebrows to express his doubts. "I thought you were collapsing. You scared me."_

_"Have you tied me up?" Kurt asks hesitantly._

_Sebastian's lips curve into a smile that looks as natural and spontaneous, while relief invades his body._

_"Not this time."_

/

He opens his eyes, pointing them on the dark walls of the apartment: then, _white_ - a dense stab hits his head at the simple thought as further evidence - there has to be something with white that helps him to remember.

Remember, not _imagine_.

He's surer now; Blaine isn't going to win this over: _Kurt_ is _real_; he isn't a stupid vision of his head caused by a damaged brain. It's all too real and consistent to be part of his sick imagination.

He gets up quickly from the couch, being careful not to be too loud as he moves easily from one room to another, as if he knows that it could prevent him from doing anything he wants.

He passes quickly over the carpet in the middle of the living room, leaning over the door next to the television. He remembers that this is Blaine's room, unless he has changed something in the distribution of the rooms too.

He leans against the door, looking at the way Blaine has obviously changed his room. Maybe there was no need, but he has done it anyway and Sebastian wants to be pleased at that concern, but he has a mission and when he tries to do something, it's hard to keep him from his goal.

He runs the room with his eyes, tracing the furniture, shelves, books, the desk, the carpet, and finally the bed.

One quick look is enough for him to arch his eyebrows and catch the detail that is out of place.

He tightens his eyelids and his eyes catch the slight shadow over the headboard of the bed, which means it is slightly offset from the wall.

Immediately, he walks inside the room, still silent, until he reaches the mattress with his knees. As always, he trusts his instincts, pressing his legs against the bed until it can't move it anymore. He startles when he hears the noise caused by that impact and gets that feeling again: a storm explodes inside him.

He lowers his hands, quickly grabbing the edges of the bed.

He makes it slide harshly along the bed, the distance created earlier, and then pushes it back toward the wall. When it makes that sound again, Sebastian sits on the mattress, a familiar chill caressing his spine. He slightly arches fingers, squeezing around the winter blankets until his knuckles become completely white.

Before he can notice it - in an instinctive and uncontrolled gesture of his body, which makes him realize that his subconscious is working again - he is squinting his eyes, moaning and pulling Blaine's covers lightly.

/

_His skin is sweaty and hot pressed against the boy beneath him who is moaning uncontrolled, making him only feel the need to go deeper, faster, to get more. Moremoremore._

_"Kurt ..." He murmurs against his body, leaning up to his neck and nibbling his skin. The movement helps him to press his chest against his while with one slow but steady thrust, he pushes completely in the heat sink of his body. The way in which the other's body twitches around him, makes him realize that he is probably experiencing pain for the invasion. "Does it hurt?" He asks, feeling drops of sweat along his forehead as he is lost in the heavenly feeling of being totally wrapped, hard and tense, in that pale body that looks so fragile and that stimulates his worst perversions._

_"N-no." Kurt stammers, but the words choke in his throat when Sebastian thrusts stronger within him, beginning to take possession of his body frantically, almost consuming it. "N-no, I ... need more, Sebastian, I-"_

_It's a wonderful feeling, that amazing tiny body into his hands, which makes him feel even more powerful than he is used to feel like._

_"Tell me you want me ..." He bites his skin, his shoulder, tasting it, marking it, "Tell me I'm the only one you want, tell me that when you walk down the streets you don't have eyes for anyone because you think of me all the time ..."_

_"I do ..." That wonderful blend of hoarse and shrill slams into his system, and with one firm thrust he sinks definitively into him, moaning uncontrollably, "Only you ..."_

_/_

'Only you.'

From the moment Sebastian opens his eyes, he is more than sure that it can't be pure imagination: those words sound so clearly inside his head, like a thunderbolt into a light sky that is has real features. This has nothing to do with his accident, now he is sure.

"Sebastian?" He hears Blaine's voice calling him from the other room and his eyes focus again on the shadow of the bed pressed against the wall. "Sebastian, where are you?" He asks again and Sebastian can clearly hear a bit of agitation in his voice - **the birds of prey watch** - enough to understand that, of course, he's worried that Sebastian might wander around the house and find something he shouldn't.

He hears his footsteps down the hall and rolls his eyes: he adores Blaine's kindness, as always, when he has temperature for example, but the way is on him right now is fucking irritating. It doesn't help to calm the nerves, in fact, it only makes him purely more nervous.

"Sebas-" He is already calling again, when he stops at the door. "Hey, you're here."

The sweet tone he's used and that thoughtful smile, almost make Sebastian hesitate. He shakes his head imperceptibly, focusing on the target and putting on a fake smile.

"I was ... looking at the way you've settled your stuff." He says, giving a quick look at the room and then following with his eyes Blaine as he sits down beside him on the mattress. "There is one thing I need to ask you." He mutters in a low voice and sees the boy beside him nod hesitantly: he knows that when he asks for something, it can be complicated, given that Blaine probably has no idea how to explain most of the things that are happening.

"Anything." He whispers, finally, with that kind smile still printed on his face, before setting out: "Unless it has to do with other imaginary _Kurts_."

Sebastian lifts his eyebrows, feeling kike Blaine's teasing him. Then he realized that, deep down, Blaine can't understand what it means to look at the world through his eyes, so he's never going to get how much it's clear to him that he is lying.

He decides that keep on pretending is the best way to achieve his goal.

"We've never had sex, have we?" He asks, but Blaine scowls at him and Sebastian realizes that he didn't get the question. "You and I." He adds then and sees him burst into laughter as he reaches out a hand to pat him on the shoulder.

"You must have taken a great blow to your head during the accident." He comments and Sebastian winces at the lack of seriousness with which he takes his question: he has suffered a trauma, he might be confused, it takes a bit of delicacy when talking about it.

"So, you and I never had sex in this room, right?" he asks again and Blaine shakes his head.

"You and I never had sex, period, either in this room, or anywhere else in the world." He explains, shrugging his shoulders and pulling the hand away from him. "Either in a bathroom or in a pub or in your precious Lamborg-"

Blaine freezes instantly, catching Sebastian's eye on himself: his eyelids are wide open and his face is remark in the typical expression of who has got some troubles coming up.

"My …?" Smythe asks, frowning.

However, there was no need for Blaine to add some more, Sebastian's mind is connecting everything quickly, as if it were invaded by a wave of thoughts: he never had sex with Blaine, but worse, he had sex with_ Kurt_ in Blaine's bed, and he had a Lamborghini, in which - judging by how his brain is reacting - he had sex with _Kurt_, whoever _Kurt_ is.

Blaine realizes, however, that the damage is already done, so he doesn't hesitate any further.

"Your Lamborghini." He mutters, looking down, and Sebastian can feel a wave of fury run over his body.

"I ... I ... If I had a fucking Lamborghini, why are we driving that fucking crap?" He asks, seeing him roll his eyes. "Where's my car?" He asks and Blaine takes a deep breath.

"I had to sell it because ..."

"You had to _what_?" He asks incredulously, keeping his mouth open. He jumps out of bed, running a hand through his hair, and when he turns back to Blaine, he notices immediately that he's pretty scared from the reaction. "You sold my Lamborghini?" He asks then, trying to look calmer.

"I had to." Blaine murmurs again. "You think I have fun selling your stuff? It's ... I have to do this, it's for your own good."

Sebastian takes a deep breath, runs his hand again through the hair, evidently trying to calm down. He doesn't want to react badly: of course, he knows that Blaine is hiding something - several things indeed - but he is also the person who is taking care of him after a coma.

But is _fucking_ Lamborghini is way too much.

"I need to rest." Sebastian mutters, moving away from him and heading for the door, trying to suppress his natural instincts.

"I was cooking-"

"What?" Sebastian asks, turning to Blaine with anger in his eyes. "You were cooking a Lamborghini? If the answer is _no_, I'm sorry, Blaine, I really don't care about whatever you were doing."

Without giving him a chance to reply - and cursing a bit for his own rudeness, but ... his Lamborghini! -, he walks down the hallway, breathing in fully only when he's reached his room. He closes the door behind him, without even paying attention to how the walls, decorations, furniture have nothing to do with his personal taste (he has always preferred the bright walls).

When a violent stab hits his brain, Sebastian realizes he's thinking too much and, maybe, he's been muttering _that name_ too many times into his head. Immediately, it makes him feel tired and worn, as if remembering, thinking or imagining only takes away twice the energy.

He leans awkwardly with his head on the pillow and narrows his eyes, as if he's trying to force his sleep. He quickly begins to sweat cold, that feeling of weakness that he hates with all his heart and that makes him feel extremely fragile. Then, in a second, he realizes that he can't fight anymore and that sleep is already holding him fast.

He feels the muscles give up and his breathing changing its tempo. Everything is too fast in the new times of his body.

Everything is so confused.

/

_"It's ... amazing!" That little voice, terribly sweet and sharp, is murmuring at his side, as they walk in the middle of a place that Sebastian can't recognize clearly: a blue cloudless sky, a natural road, them walking toward something. His eyes fly rapidly towards the object of their little pilgrimage and he stares at the car that the other guy is admiring charmed._

_"It is." He says with wearing pride in his voice. "My baby."_

_His gaze passes quickly on the car, before turning to the guy next to him. If nothing else, the right word to define his face at that moment is 'happy'._

_Kurt - whoever Kurt is - was happy with him._


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Here is it!

So, this chapter is from Kurt's POV, as you can see, it swings during the chapters. I know everything seems confused, but believe me, this is the best way to work it out when things come to a turning point. I'll write this here to, I'll be gone for 2 weeks on a holiday, but when I'll get back I'll probably be able to post more chapters, since I'll translate during these 17-18 days.

This is just trivia, but if you're interested, you can associate Birds Of Prey by Christina Aguilera to Sebastian and Little Bird by Ed Sheeran to Kurt :)!

Thanks for anybody following me and my stories! Hope you enjoy the chapter! - xoxo

**Beta: **CaramelApple74, who is also giving me a great support by being honest with me when I ask her if the chapters look okay or need something more!

/

**Chapter 4**

_"Babe?" This voice that sounds so sweet and hoarse at the same time blows on his ear. "Do you want me to take you to bed?"_

_He moves slightly, but firm, strong arms are tightly wrapped around his torso. Immediately, the sensation of surprise turns into relieved comfort, because the other boy's body starts warming his own._

_"Hmmm …" he whimpers, trying to pronounce something, anything, but he's still too sleepy to manage that. His eyes barely open to look at the screen of the television and the dim light it produces, making the room just a little less dark._

_He feels soft, warm lips press on his head, and before he can keep it, he's already smiling with affection._

_"Don't fall asleep on the sofa. That's a mess and you're going to wake up all wrecked up," the voice suggests him as the boy starts brushing his hair. "Your back will ache if you sleep on the sofa every night."_

_"I don't when you're not here."_

_He feels another kiss pressed on his forehead, as if that mouth wants to reward him for what he's just said. He shifts slightly then, lifting his head until – eyes still closed – he reaches his neck. He kisses back then, on this muscled, hot skin, moaning sleepily._

_"Okay, babe. Go back to sleep," the boy whispers, and Kurt does._

_/_

When Kurt really opens his eyes and finds himself staring at the wood smooth apartment he lives in now, he just smiles. He has no idea what's making him feel like this, but there's an unknown sparkle of pure happiness that makes his morning start in the right way.

He keeps himself in balance for a few seconds, using his arm and trying to focus on that dream he'd had. As soon as he feels the first stab at his head though, he decides to let it go for now. He just leans a hand towards the bedside table until he grabs his phone to check the voicemail.

_"Message, 6th of November, 2012, at 09:45 am."_

He presses the button and then leans back against the pillow again as he hears Rachel's high voice greeting him.

_"Hey! I've finally found a way to get you an appointment at the doctor. I had no idea there were so many sick people in New York, and we're taking an old woman's place today since … well, she passed to a better life last night. I'd say that we've been lucky, but honestly? I'd feel like throwing eggs on the woman's grave if I did …"_

Kurt shakes his head, waiting for some useful information.

_"Well. Now that we've had a moment of silence to express our sorrow, I have to tell you that the doctor's free from other appointments from 11:15 to 12:05. So, considering how long the metro takes, you should get out at 10:05. It's a golden chance, Kurt, there were like dozens of people before us on that list, so jump off your bed and forget about hair spray! Don't even think about what you're wearing. Have a shower, get dressed and get out of your house! If we're lucky again, the patient before us won't even take long. I love you, Kurtie-hmm, no, I meant Kurt! I meant Kurt, sorry about that! Hmm … see you soon, okay? Don't waste any time on hair spray!"_

_Beep._

Kurt doesn't really know why his brain reacted to the nickname. He winces, knowing that Rachel had adjusted it for a reason, even if too late. When he manages to focus on the full message, ignoring that detail, he jumps off the bed and runs to the bathroom.

He can't skip a long, relaxing shower anyway, or choosing his clothes with accuracy. He must give a hit of hair spray on his soft hair, but he just lifts his hair instead of trying some new, complex look.

When he stares smugly at the clock in the hallway, ready to go, he gives himself tiny applauses: 10:04. Perfect.

He opens the door and runs down the stairs, trying to ignore the stab making him nervous while he does.

/

"Rachel?" he murmurs through the phone, with the signal being weak in the tunnel. Fucking subway. "Rachel, where are you? I'm getting at the station."

_"Sitting on our bench," _Rachel giggles. _"Having an awesome Frappuccino in the meanwhile. Do you think it's a problem for my vegan morality?" _she asks, and Kurt rolls his eyes.

"I've seen you eating and drinking worse than that, Rach," he comments while the train starts to slow as it approaches to the stop. "I don't think a Frappuccino is a problem. Did Brody get you pregnant?" he asks hesitantly. "Because your problem right now is not what you eat, but how much you're eating. And if you are pregnant, you can't really follow your vegan diet anymore. It's going to hurt the baby."

_"I'm not pregnant!" _Rachel complains, lowering her voice a second later_. "We still haven't … you know ..."_

Kurt rolls his eyes again and hangs up the phone, because he's sure he doesn't want to know about the details. He walks out of the train and the station until he reaches their infamous bench where Rachel is sitting and waving her hand at him with a smile on her face – the enormous plastic cup of Frappuccino still between her fingers.

"Bonjour," Kurt murmurs, ignoring the stab hitting him at the word. He doesn't know what's wrong with bonjour, but he's getting used to not knowing. "Did I make you wait too long?" he asks, putting his hands in his pockets and looking down at her.

"Knowing you, it could have been worse," she mocks him and she gets slapped playfully on the back of her head.

Rachel stands up from the bench and they walk together to the medical studio while Kurt starts to feel a little anxiety at the idea that everybody around him seems to know what's wrong with him but him. Not knowing what's up with his health is sort of frustrating. Everybody knows, but no one seems like they want to explain it to him.

All he can do is hope that these stabs will end.

When they enter the building, they have to wait for a lot of people in line- check-ups and prescriptions- as they patiently sit in the waiting room. Rachel's explaining to him all that's happened with Brody lately, and Kurt feels weirdly relieved as he listens; normally, he would have told her to shut up because her voice is sort of annoying when she chats, but since they've stepped into the room anxiety has grown inside him, so he's happy that Rachel's distracting him with gossips.

He lets her talk, not only about her precious Weston, but also NYADA, an audition for a movie, how Santana's doing, horoscopes and whatever she comes up with. There are some things that Rachel mentions – like Santana, for example – that give Kurt little flashes of memories, but they're always too short for him to really focus on them. It's not like the other ones he had before.

"Kurt? Are you listening?" Rachel is clearly scolding him for the only three seconds Kurt had thought about something else. "Did I say something that … huh … shook you?"

"Hmm, no, I-"

"_Kurt_." Rachel's voice sounds firmer, "Seriously, you have to tell me when it happens. It can really hurt you bad, and the doctor told me it could damage you permanently. I need to make sure that it doesn't happen too often; actually, it shouldn't even happen, so …"

"Rachel," Kurt replies, breathing in deeply before he speaks. "Listen to me. I know you're doing this for me, just as I know that you want to protect me from something I can't figure out, but I need to understand what's going on. My life is starting to get frustrating, especially if I have no idea what I can or cannot do, what might make me pass out suddenly …"

That's it.

He's tried so hard not to think about it until now, and the topic has come out anyway, making anxiety grow fast inside his body, making him so nervous that his legs are starting to shake while Rachel looks at him, chewing at her lower lips and with her puppy eyes that do nothing but make him feel worse.

"Okay, Kurt. Just have a little patience," she murmurs, unsure. "Let's see what the doctor says, and-"

"About what?" Kurt asks, feeling his chest ache in contractions. "I see things when I pass out. Or sleep."

"It's just your imagination, Kurt!"

The fact that Rachel answers so fast though, with no hesitation, makes him think that the reply is planned, like Rachel already knows that's what she has to say. But it's his best friend, and maybe he doesn't feel like not trusting her at all just because of some weird vision. Maybe it's just his imagination, for real. Human minds can play awkwardly at times.

"Okay …" he says, hesitating. He's not the one who knows about what's going on, so. "Okay, maybe you're right. I shouldn't allow these visions to make me doubt."

"Exactly." Rachel smiles immediately, clearly calmer.

Somewhere inside his mind, Kurt knows that there's a reason why he has to act carefully with the visions and stuff; he remembers he's been the one who wanted this and the cure, even if it seems unwanted and undesired now. It was partly decided by him too, that's for sure. Rachel just didn't choose for him.

But still, he can't help but need to understand. The idea he wanted this calms him slightly, but it doesn't help him feel less frustrated about what he doesn't know now.

Minutes go by fast and Kurt is still thinking and thinking and thinking, even as they enter into the doctor's room finally, and Rachel closes the door behind their backs, letting Kurt in first as if she's afraid that Kurt's too delicate to be left behind, like she always needs to keep an eye on him.

"Good morning," Rachel says behind him, and Kurt half-bows to the doctor. "Thanks for not making us wait too much, Doctor Motta. I was afraid things could get more complicated."

"Don't worry about it, Ms. Berry," the man says, showing them a smile and pointing at the chair in front of his desk.

For a few seconds, Kurt doesn't move, so Rachel starts pushing him to the chair with a strict look on her face. They both sit and Rachel starts searching for something inside her bag, and then pulls out some pills and puts them on the desk.

"Tell me about it," the doctor says, looking awkwardly calm.

"Kurt has some visions lately-" she's about to explain, but doctor Motta stops her by raising a hand and turns to Kurt.

"Kurt," he calls him gently, with a smile on his lips, and Kurt thinks he really knows how to act with his patients because it calms him immediately. "Can you tell me what it is with these visions? When does it happen? What do you see? Tell me."

Kurt thinks about it for a few seconds, because he isn't really sure what to reply. Everything is confusing, and he doesn't really know what the cause for it when it happens is. He knows there are some things he has to avoid, that Rachel tries not to call him some names, but he really can't connect everything with this information. He tries to pull something out of it, but he doesn't know how it's going to sound.

"It's all confused and blurred, always. There's a boy with me, he …" He stops for a few seconds to wonder. Does the doctor know he's gay? Is he supposed to tell him about his recent vision, that there are some creepy things – maybe – connected to sex involved?

"Do you have sexual visions?" Doctor Motta asks then, anticipating him, and Kurt bites his lower lip as he blushes in embarrassment. "It's okay, Kurt. Sex is the most intimate moment between two bodies and mostly even two souls. It's a strong bond, it gets stuck into your mind and not only; it's also the most immediate fantasy human mind recurs to when it doesn't know what to produce."

"He passes out," Rachel cuts in, evidently anxious. "He was working and he started having sort of visions. Then he passed out and they called me."

"I see," the doctor comments, and Kurt's considering telling him about the coffee urn, wondering if it has something to do with what happened directly, but he doesn't do that.

They both stare at doctor Motta as he searches between the prescription papers, notes and writing that Kurt can't really decode, until he's looking back at them with a little piece of paper in his hands.

"The situation is unbalanced and delicate, Kurt. Your mind is weak and sensible, it could be dangerous," he says and then looks to Rachel. "Ms. Berry, the recent past is very easy for him to be deleted now," he explains cryptically, "the process is going to last long and there's no way to fasten it since this cure is only experimental. Right now, we can't do much more than observe and study how his system reacts."

"But I'm worried," Rachel complains, wincing, and Kurt just looks between them because he has no idea what's going on. It's frustrating for him to try and control this enormous block of perpetual anxiety. "I wouldn't want this to hurt him and get too unsafe."

"You were the one who signed for permissions, Ms. Berry," the man answers. "You should have considered the risks back then. Just like you should consider now the risks of having Kurt to live his life as a consequence of what happened."

Kurt hates it.

He hates the random secret language they use to talk about him like he isn't there when he's clearly waiting for some real explanation instead of words he can't understand.

"I'm perfectly aware …" Rachel looks at him and lowers her voice. "And believe me, I'm sure that this is exactly what he needs now. But I'm also putting myself in his shoes: Kurt woke up someday and he just can't know and understand anymore. I think it's normal for him to panic when it happens. I think he's afraid."

She turns towards Kurt and leans a hand to hold his, before she's looking at the doctor again.

"I'm not here to complain, I just want Kurt to be safe."

"He can't be," the doctor answers. "I'll say that again. This is very dangerous and it's not guaranteed that his brain won't be permanently damaged-"

"_What_?" Kurt asks, interrupting the explanation with his eyes wide open. Anxiety is growing, his breath fastens. "Is … is it possible for me to get permanently damaged? I … I don't want this. Whatever it is, I don't want it to happen, I-"

"It's your choice," the doctors replies, his chin resting on his palm. "Ms. Berry signed a deliberation and she can take her word back whenever she wants to. You though, Kurt, don't have faculties to decide right now."

"Rachel must choose for me?" Kurt asks, shocked. "Not that I don't trust her, but … why can't I choose what I'm doing with my health? I'm not sure that whatever this cure is for can be useful without killing me. I pass out twice a day almost, and-"

"Twice a day?" the doctor asks, stopping him. "Well, this changes the situation. We can go slowly, but less risky."

Kurt looks at him and wrinkles his lips at him, then at Rachel.

"Why aren't you doing that yet?" he asks. "If there's a less risky way … why haven't you-"

"Your case is particularly urgent. We had to do something," Dr. Motta says, tearing a paper from his notebook. "I'll write you different doses. As I said, Ms. Berry, the recent events are easy to forget about for him because his mind hasn't got the time to process them entirely yet. We're going backwards now."

Kurt would want to ask if they really think he's this stupid: they tell him he has visions and then talk about memories. How can Kurt trust this man? What keeps him from asking though is that instead he's sure he trusts _Rachel_. He knows she wouldn't do anything wrong, only choosing the right thing for him.

"Okay, I see," Rachel says, leaning to take the paper. "Anyway … If I woke up one day and decided that this cure isn't what Kurt needs, I will always be in charge for that, right? I mean, I could sign to stop it, couldn't I?"

Kurt wonders why it isn't just easier: he could stop taking pills and going to the doctor. Why is she supposed to signor to stop a cure? He tries to think that it's just a formality, but he's starting to get suspicious. And more anxious, of course.

"Whenever you might think it's the right thing to do. Just a reminder that Kurt's mind isn't weak from the cure only. If we'd stop, he would probably be like this anyway."

"I know, believe me," Rachel murmurs lowly.

Then they start saying their goodbyes: they stand up, hold their hands and Kurt winces a lot because he's just even more confused. Getting out of the room though is even more complicated when he faces a boy he thinks he's never seen before. Their eyes connect and Kurt feels a painful stab at his head. Maybe he has met him before.

The boy looks at him, surprised and scared, and Rachel turns to Kurt, tugging at his hand.

"Do you know him?" she asks, and Kurt stares at his face, hazel eyes, dark hair, and short body. He's charming- maybe charming isn't enough to define him, but Kurt doesn't have the time to think about it now, anxiety running through his system.

"No," the boy speaks before Kurt can, smiling with a clearly fake innocent printed on his face. "No, we've never met."

"Are you sure?" Kurt asks immediately, stopping the boy from entering the room where the doctor is probably waiting for him. "I … I do remember your face," he lies. Well, not completely; he doesn't remember his face, but there's something wrong and blurred that makes him think he does.

"Well, it's New York, it's big but we move fast. Maybe we've seen each other before." The boy looks hesitant and Rachel starts tugging Kurt's arm again.

"C'mon, let's go. It's probably just some pills effect."

Kurt isn't a bird of prey. Kurt's just a little bird.

If he were a bird of prey – _**the birds of prey watch**__ -_, he would have probably noticed the way Blaine's swallowing at the words, he would have noticed how nervous he looks, or maybe he would have noticed if he were sober enough to wonder why the guy has just walked over the line of patients, since he wasn't there when they had arrived.

But Kurt isn't a bird of prey, so he just shrugs and walks away with Rachel.

They get out of the waiting room and walk towards the exit. When they turn, Kurt is lazily looking around, still a little confused by this whole morning. Then, something happens; his eyes wonder curiously towards the balcony at the end of the hallway and his gaze falls on the person leaning against the glass. He can't really see too much except for a hand holding a cigarette and the curving stream of smoke coming out of it.

He walks slower even though Rachel is still pulling him, to stare at the little skin she can see. There's something wrong, he can feel it in the way the veins in his temples are starting to throb faster.

Rachel doesn't stop tugging, not even for a second, but Kurt knows there's _something_. Maybe it's the smoke, maybe just the sky, it can be anything. The sense of anxiety runs through him again and he keeps staring there until he can't anymore because they're turning again to walk out of the building. It burns inside him, his heartbeat fastening as he needs to walk slower.

Rachel turns towards him this time, when Kurt has stopped and she doesn't manage to move him anymore. She looks at him, worry filling her eyes.

"Kurt?" she asks, lifting her eyebrows, "Is everything okay?" she asks, and Kurt would want to answer yes or no, but the truth is he has no idea.

"I don't know. I-I think I've just seen something-"

"_Forget it_," Rachel says, and Kurt just looks more confused. "Kurt, seriously, you have to forget whatever you saw. This is for your own good, you wouldn't want to know about what happened. Trust me, I know you. Stop fighting this cure."

"I'm not fighting," Kurt answers, chewing his lower lip. "I'm not fighting and _I don't want_ these things to happen to me, but they do and not knowing anything doesn't help me finding a way to fight these moments when they come to me. Believe me, Rach, I don't want to fight the cure, but it happens. And it scares me to death."

Rachel sighs, her face looking sad and also a little resigned. It doesn't really help Kurt feel better.

"Listen, I know this is all too confusing for you now, but it's going to get better. It might take some time, but it will happen." Kurt nods, unsure. "How about we go out and see the Christmas illuminations? This street is so always of them and it's awesome. What do you say? It might be a cute distraction."

Kurt nods then because he needs something to do to not think too much. Thinking makes him walk through the labyrinth of his mind and makes his head spin and hurt. He wants to run from this.

"I think that's an awesome idea." He forces a smile. "Everything I want right now, it's some peace and something ordinary might help me."

He immediately realizes that this is the first time he is facing the situation like this. He can still call it a progress. He grins at himself, wincing also when he thinks about that hand he's barely seen. He wonders if he should find an excuse to get away from Rachel and go back, searching for this mysterious person. And yet, he also knows that there's a fair chance that it hasn't to do with the person either.

And then, he feels like getting closer also means that his head would burn in pain and he really doesn't feel like it.

"Fine, it's going to be awesome, I swear!" Rachel claps her hands happily. "I can't wait for it! What should I wear for that?"

Right now, Kurt's totally grateful to her; she's keeping his mind busy with a guaranteed weapon, fashion. No stab or headache could ever keep Kurt from a good talk about what his best friend is supposed to wear. They start walking with their arms interlaced while Kurt starts to suggest her a few hypothesis since he's got Rachel's wardrobe pretty impressed into his mind. He's got it memorized better than the last months of his life apparently.

There are no confused or painful thoughts during the walk.

The day comes fast to an end quite easily. The moment Kurt gets hit again is when he's not expecting it anymore; he's laid in bed a few minutes ago, under the covers, lights already off. He's already drifting to the land of dreams, giving up to his emotional tiredness.

He gets a little confirmation of what he thought about after he saw that hand, the smoke, that skin.

/

_The smoke that fills his lungs seems able to enter easily under his skin. Easier than it usually does even. It's probably because he isn't wearing any clothes. He doesn't have his usual dozens of layers covering him. He doesn't need them when he's with him though. Partly because he makes him feel protected anyway, and also because he doesn't know how much he wants to defend from him yet._

_"Bastian …" he calls him, gently stroking his naked chest with his fingertips (it's the first time he hears his name inside his head, while sleeping; it's weird, but not totally unpleasant). The handsome boy beside him turns to him (two enchanting emeralds gazing at him, so that Kurt can see them perfectly now, for the first time in his visions) and grins lazily. Kurt can feel his own body wrecked and tired, sunk in the mattress with all his weight._

_"Kitty?" the boy murmurs on his lips, leaning over to kiss him lightly, since they both probably feel too tired for more. Kurt blinks, wincing sleepily._

_"How many times did I tell you not to smoke in bed? You shouldn't even do that in the dining room …" he complains, wrinkling his lips. These long fingers brush his face and Kurt hates the way his cheek is pressing into the touch. "God, you know how to buy me …" They look at each other in their eyes and Sebastian puts the cigarette back between his lips, not pulling his gaze away not even for a second._

_"I've learned," he answers, breathing out in the room, filling it with the gray shades that dissolve fast. Kurt stares at his muscled chest inflating and deflating (He still has no idea while he's in bed with this familiar gay though), charmed. "I've learned how to buy you so easily."_

_Kurt doesn't answer at that._

_He just stares._

_When a few minutes pass, his eyelids started getting heavy again. He closes his eyes then, but feels the sheets brushing him and a cold air run through his body. Maybe Sebastian's shifting to use the ashtray on the bedside table._

_Indeed, Kurt feels his warm body getting closer to his again and delicate fingers stroking his skin in that way that Kurt finds sexy and creepy at the same time._

_"Bas?" he calls him with his eyes still closed, because he perfectly knows what these caresses mean. He's learning to know him, too._

_"Relax …" the boy murmurs, moving his hands on Kurt's body, working on his muscles. "I like it when you're relaxed. It makes it easier. I like it when you're spread for me and-"_

_"But I'm tired," Kurt complains, stuttering a little somewhere in the sentence. "I need to sleep. We've been going for hours …" he whispers, feeling a soft brush on his lips._

_He opens his eyes then, cursing himself for the shiver that runs through his spine when he realizes that the other boy is looking at him like he's the most beautiful thing in the world._

_"One more time, I promise," he murmurs, grinning sweetly, and Kurt hates when he smiles like this because he knows he does it on purpose. He can't resist. "Just one and I'll let you sleep."_

_He sighs but leans his neck immediately, finding the strength to reach his lips with his own. It's a harsh kiss right when it starts, but it turns fast into a mouth, tongue, teeth fast tempo. Kurt has a little problem with getting hard at the beginning- it's not that the boy in his bed isn't hot, it's just that after several orgasms, it would be hard for anybody- but when it happens, as soon as he feels these strong hands on his chest and his hips, he shifts abruptly on his lap, kissing him from there and making him feel his hardness against his body._

/

When Kurt wakes up, he's in total panic.

He cuddles in bed, feeling an unknown flame burning his body from the inside. The dim flashing inside him is probably a consequence of the vision. Of course, he isn't stupid enough to deny it.

It's the first time this name, _these nicknames - Bastian, Bas -_ fill his mind with their sounds. They make his head ache, but they still sound familiar for reasons Kurt doesn't know. He can clearly distinguish the anxiety taking over, making him stiffen under the sheets.

He can remember perfectly how the smoke fills into his lungs.

His excitement in the dream seems now real.

He can feel the warm touch of that skin on his own.

He needs a pill right now.

He tries to stand up but falls back on the mattress.

He curses into his mind and cries out, suffering when his head aches more, making him feel like he's about to explode. He sinks his face in the pillow and breathes in, feeling his lungs burn like he's inhaling smoke still, but no one is smoking in the room. The air is clean, what the hell is happening?

Anxiety grows, his heart beats fasten, and Kurt has no idea how it feels when you're about to die from a panic attack, but he's sure it's a lot like this. Everything hurts and is blurred to his sight, and when he tries to say something, he fails. His voice chokes in his throat and the familiar sensation of passing out takes over him. It's so awkward to wake up to pass out after. Sweating cold is even worse in bed than usual, but at least he is falling on the mattress. The impact is softer, but his head still hurts.

He tries to sleep again.

It's hard, but not impossible.

All he has to do is turn his mind off.

It's hard not to think about at how before today his visions had always included blurred faces and no names, and then it all changed right now.

It's already the 7th November, 2012 when he lets go and sleeps definitively, consumed with the emotional stress of the day.

His last thought – together with the first stab – is about who _Bastian_ is, and eventually how wonderful his green eyes look. An unknown sensation of happiness runs through his chest and he falls asleep with a smile on his face, even though he's too tired and shocked to realize.

He won't know about the smile.

He won't know that subconsciously he's smiling at _Bastian_.


End file.
